


Midnight Hours

by FireEye



Category: Saints Row
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 11:02:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13098726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireEye/pseuds/FireEye
Summary: An art museum heist, complicated feelings, and a whole lot of dead cops.





	Midnight Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowkeeper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowkeeper/gifts).



“Hey, remind me why we’re doing this the hard way?”

_“Because you have all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop.”_

“Yeah, ‘cause a fucker six foot and then some in purple lurking around behind a potted tree in the middle of the night is subtle as hell.”

_“Better lurking out there than you setting off alarms in here.”_

“Museum’s got daylight hours, what’s wrong with walking in the front door?”

_“Do you remember the last time we tried that plan?”_

“I had a great time, didn’t you?”

“ _I got arrested._ ”

“Come on, you love high speed joyrides in cop cars.”

_“You know how I feel about handcuffs.”_

“I got you out, didn’t I?”

_“Gat, shut up and cut me some slack.”_

“Sure.  Give me a blowjob and all’s forgiven.”

_“The fucking rope, asshole!”_

“Oh.  Right.  The _rope_.”

_“Fuck!”_

“Oops.”

“ _Fucking-.._.”

“Sorry.  Lost my grip.  Had to scratch my balls.”

_“Fuck.  You.”_

“Time and place, baby.”

A bright beam of light cut into his face.

“Stay where you are; hands where I can see them.”

Squinting at the light’s source, then weighing the rope in his hands, Gat blew out a breath in thought.  Hooking the toe of his shoe under the rope, he slid part of the coil at his feet loose and stepped on it flat, then let go.  It held.

Only then did Johnny raise his hands, palms out.  There was a cheerful lilt to his voice, and an amicable smile for good measure, as he asked, “What seems to be the problem, officer?”

It was mainly for the Boss’s benefit; there was a moment of meaningful silence on the other end of the line, then a resigned, _“Fuck.”_

Still.  There was something beautiful in the way the first cop’s confident expression melted to a subtle, terrified expression of _oh fuck_ when he recognized just who he it was he was dealing with.  Judging by the glances his buddies exchanged, they were equally shaken.  A couple of them unholstered weapons.  There was a murmured, _“Call for backup_ , _”_ and the guy with the flashlight goaded two of his men forward.

Gat measured them up as they approached him.  The one on the left, with the handcuffs, drew his eye in particular...

The guy with the flashlight called across the terrace, and Gat’s attention snapped back to him.

“Johnny Gat-...”

“Yep.”

“-...you... already know your rights-...”

“ _Yep_.”

“You’re under arrest for...” the guy sputtered, and fell to simply holding Gat to, “ _everything_.”

Both of the approaching men flinched when Gat chuckled.

The cop with the handcuffs reached for his wrist above his head.  Gat constrained himself until the handcuff rasped, and the guy tried to guide his hand down behind his back – then he simply turned, pulling the guy into the rope and tangling it around his neck.

The cop hit the wall, choking.

But the rope held.

The other cop tried to grab him.  Gat locked his elbow around the guy’s arm to pull him off balance and completely around to get a grip around his neck, at the same time he reached for the GDHC tucked into the back of his belt.  Reasonably safe behind his impromptu shield, Gat squinted over the guy’s shoulder, taking aim, and opened fire.

~*~

Suspended between open floors from a climbing rope that she had hooked through an abstract metal sculpture on display that was, likewise, hanging from the ceiling, the leader of the Third Street Saints regarded the quiet, wide open museum surrounding her.  After a moment, weighing her options, she twisted in space, grabbing for the rope above to pull herself upright.

A rush of boots echoed through the empty halls, and her gaze fell to the troop of police moving swiftly along the third floor gallery towards her, discerning them by the tactical lights that cut across the dark as they ran.  She tracked their movement as they lined up proficiently behind the balustrade, raising her hand against the light.

“You have nowhere to go,” one of them in the back of the lineup said, though she couldn’t tell which.  “Drop your weapons.”

Blowing her hair out of her eyes, she reached for the VICE 9 strapped at her hip, held it up for their satisfaction, then let it fall to the distant floor below.  Repeated with the NR4, and finally her knife.  Then, she held out her empty hands for inspection.

There was a pause, an exchange of glances among the rank and file, then a halting, “Come... over here.  Slowly.”

Raising her hands, she gave them an expression roughly equating to, _How the fuck?_   When they didn’t seem dissuaded, she sighed, shaking her head.

Flailing a bit, she gave the rope an experimental swing.  Then another.  After a few, back and forth, gaining momentum, one of the cops in front reached out to catch her, but she wasn’t quite close enough.  Another couple of swings distance, and he reached out again.  Twisting in her harness, she spun to wrap her legs around his neck, and cut loose from the rope.  Tumbling backward, she dragged him over the edge and let him fall as she rolled to catch the balustrade.  Sliding down, she swung into the gallery below.

Cutting herself out of her harness, she left it where it fell and, phone in hand, took off running through the museum’s halls.

_“You alive?”_

“Yeah.  You?”

_“Never better.”_

Once she had put a few rooms between herself and any pursuit, she paused to get her bearings, then stilled, her gaze flitting between the pieces on display surrounding her.

Slipping out of her jacket, she wrapped it around her fist and punched through a glass display case.

 

The first man to catch up with her, gunning through the archway on the tail of a fleeing suspect, missed the woman hiding in the shadow of the wall, and died choking on his own blood.

~*~

The door opened a handspan, and she peered out cautiously, gauging immediate silence in contrast to the sound of the sirens in the distance.  She had to shove the door to get it open past the body that had fallen in its path, and once she was outside she crouched to retrieve an NR4 that had been forgotten in the skirmish.

Gritty footsteps rounded the corner behind her.  She tensed, then relaxed.  Fluidly, she rose to her feet and, as she began to turn around, a hand brushed over her hip.  Glancing up at Gat, she couldn’t suppress the way the corner of her mouth twitched in response to his unrestrained glee.

There was a screech of tires on pavement, tearing their attention in that direction.  Gat reacted first, hooking an arm fully around her to haul her along the short distance and swing her back around the corner into the cover of the building.

Back flat against the wall, she checked the magazine of her newest pistol.  Beside her, Gat glanced down at his arm.

“Hey, you mind?”  He held the handcuff out to her, still dangling from his wrist.  Retrieving a wire from her shoelaces, she worked quickly to get it off of him and subsequently tossed it away.  His thumb caught under the curve of her jaw as she turned back towards him, and he held her fast to nip at her mouth.  There was the lightest touch of her tongue on his bottom lip, and Johnny followed it deeper, evoking a meager little sound from her throat before backing down.

Gat thumbed the bridge of his glasses up, and glanced back towards the corner.  She blinked at him, then past him, then, shoving her bag of stolen antiquities out of her way, she took the second pistol he offered, flourishing it with a twirl in her hand.

“Bike’s on the other side of the building, isn’t it?”

“Think so.”

“...fuck.”

“Hey, if you ain’t up for this, there’s probably a cop car around here they ain’t gonna be needin’.”

“Bite me.”

Gat flashed her a smile that was all teeth.  The challenge in her eyes evaporated as her focus shifted past his arm.  Taking the cue, Gat grabbed the first guy around the corner, and slammed him into the wall.

~*~

“...simple fact remains: you’re out of control.”

Reclined in the chair behind the desk, she shrugged, flaring her fingers where they rested behind her head.  One corner of her mouth curled into a lopsided smile.

“And you’re getting kickbacks.  What do you care?”

The plainclothes cop leaned onto the desk; her gaze flicked to his hands, then back to his face as his wandered meaningfully over select new articles of her office decor.  His eyes lingered on the painting that had been duct-taped to the wall for lack of a frame.

“Plain view doctrine.”  His stare dropped to meet hers.  “I could arrest you right now for possession of stolen property.”

The Boss wasn’t moved.

“I could have you killed right now,” she pointed out, “and I doubt anyone would give a damn.”

It was then the man seemed to realize how _close_ Gat was, having wandered over from the overlook into the club to stand behind him.  He straightened, staring up over his shoulder, and Gat grinned down at his sudden loss of bravado.

“Feel free to tell the chief of police, he wants to come down here _himself_ and talk about the good old days, he knows where we are.”

 

Once Gat had shown the guy out, she dragged her feet off the desk to land flat on the floor and sighed, scratching her fingers through her hair.  Johnny nudged the chair her with his foot; with a glance up at him, she rolled herself out of it, leaving him to sit down and pulling herself up onto the corner of the desk instead.

Leaning back, Gat crossed his arms and stared.  Took in the set of her shoulders, the fold of her hands, the way her heels tapped absently against the desk... the distance she was staring into space.

“You thinkin’ too much.”

Her head turned towards him, but her gaze fell to her hands, and she scratched at the edge of a thumbnail.  Gat glanced off, then kicked the desk under her; she grabbed the edge reflexively as though she’d fall.  Meeting her indignant glare with a smirk, he reached for her arm as he got to his feet; drawing it upward, he slid his fingers along her skin until he caught her hand.

Her scowl softened into a pout as he grazed his mouth over her fingers, catching the knuckle of her thumb between his teeth.  Slipping her legs around his waist and her free hand over his shoulder, she melted into him, and his attention vacillated between her throat and the buttons on her vest.

She pressed her face into his neck, and breathed deep.  There was a sound in her throat, small and distant and unfamiliar, and whatever it meant escaped him.

“I’m scared.”

His eyebrows knit together, and Gat pulled away far enough to squint at her.  There was a spark in her eyes, laced with resignation, and her mouth was set in a flat, silent dare for him to say something irreverent about it.

“The fuck you expect me to do about it?”

The audacity crumbled into uncertainty.  Eyes downcast, she licked her lip, struggling to make it make sense.

“I don’t know.”

Gat scoffed.  His voice dipped a register.

“You thinkin’ too much.”

She fidgeted in his arms.  He combed her hair back behind her ear, watching the play of emotions across her face.  Her nails dig into his skin as she threw herself into him, pressing her mouth first below his lip, and he met her head on as she kissed him.  The deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest earned a gruff, disgruntled sound.

“Shut up.”

Gat never understood what got her so riled up in the first place.

There was no place else in the world for either of them.

Didn’t _she_ know that?

**Author's Note:**

> Gat can be a prick, ~Feelings~ suck, News at 11 on Channel6.
> 
> Happy Yuletide <3


End file.
